


Night Scented Stock

by MatildaSwan



Category: Holby City
Genre: Baked Goods, F/F, Neighbours in the Countryside Cottage AU, Significant Thirst, much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: Like most spur of the moment decisions that turn her life upside down, it's all Sian's idea.





	Night Scented Stock

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Undersell, Overdeliver](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245389) by [Wonko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko). 

> My entry to the Berena Remix Fest. [Wonko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko) was my assigned creator and choosing just one of her many fics was a hard task and in the end I couldn't manage it. Instead, I took lots of elements that sang to me from across her oeuvre and amalgamated them to create this AU. Because who can resist the image of Bernie being a star baker!
> 
> Many thanks to the beautiful Myfi for her beta skills and giving me the energy boost to finish this vaguely on time, and the wonderful Reg for her advice on thirst. And a huge cheer to incredible Jess for organising the event!!! It was wonderful fun and I can't wait to do something like this again!

‘Rena, you need a fucking holiday.’

Serena frowns. She was just filling Sian in on some of the things she’s missed since the last time they saw each other. If she let out a bit of steam leftover from Guy swanning into her ward like he owned the place, that’s what friends are for, aren’t they?

Apparently, they’re also for giving unsolicited advice. 

‘Babe, I’m not joking.’ She points at Serena, shiraz sloshing from side to side but not losing a drop. ‘You need to take a time out, get away from that hospital. You’re going to lose the will to live if you keep going on like this.’

Serena splutters, buries her embarrassment in a mouthful of wine. ‘I don’t think I’d go _ that  _ far.’’

‘You’ve had a really rough time lately,’ Sian says softly, her usually mischievous eyes filled with nothing but warmth and care. ‘You deserve a bit of rest.’

‘People handle things like this all the time!’ 

‘What, being passed over for less qualified colleagues because they’re more cost effective? Or male?’ she asks, eyebrow arching; sneers as she adds, ‘Men who expect you and every other woman in the building to do all their work  _ anyway _ ?’ Serena’s shoulders slump, more and more of the fight leaving her as Sian adds, ‘Or have an ex husband turn up to your place of work and worm his way into your good graces, once again, before humiliating you, jeopardising your career and then  _ stalking  _ you? Not to mention your mother.’ Sian stares at her pointedly. ‘No, Serena. People don’t handle things like that all the time.’

Serena blinks quickly, eyes burning. ‘Well,’ she starts, swallowing the lump clogging her throat, ‘When you put it like that.’ 

She sips carefully under Sian’s watchful eye, humming against the rim of her glass.  _ Maybe she’s right,  _ she thinks. Maybe a bit of time off would do her some good. 

She looks up with a smile and stretches towards the bottle; refills both their glasses. ‘What did you have in mind?’

*

Whatever Serena was expecting, it wasn’t this. When Sian said she’d organise everything, Serena assumed she was talking about a week away in a luxury high-rise, penthouse with 24 hour room service. Something expensive and decadent and lovely. 

A cottage in the countryside hadn’t even crossed her mind.

It certainly is lovely, with ivy growing up the side and lavender either side of the garden path. It’s rather quaint, flowerbeds bursting with colour and the chitter of birds coming down from the overgrown oak popping up over the roof. A bit homely, even, in an unassuming sort of way. 

But it’s not exactly the ritz, she thinks as she spies cobwebs on the garden furniture and the threadbare curtains in the window just behind.

But Sian has a knack for knowing what she needs; has proved that time and again since their days at school, when Serena desperately needed someone to pull her head out of a book and relax, no matter how much she protested. 

Hopefully this is no different. 

_ Besides _ , she thinks with a sigh,  _ I’m already here. Might as well give it a chance. _

She squares her shoulders, tightens the grip on her suitcase, and walks inside. 

*

The curtains aren’t so bad once she’s thrown them open to let the afternoon sunshine in. She unpacks her things, acquaints herself with the interior and ponders how best to take advantage of the weather. 

She decides to dust off the deck chair and settles down with the bodice ripper she grabbed off the rack when she stopped for coffee half way here. Pulp isn’t her usual bag, but she’ll make an exception for the lesbian variety, especially when it’s displayed as unapologetically as this one: a blonde pushed up against a brunette’s back, clinging tightly to her waist with her mouth mere inches away from her neck, the other seemingly so overcome she can barely open her eyes. 

The heroine’s just entered the hedge maze, her soon to be lover waiting in the centre, when a voice shatters the surrounding silence. 

‘Oh! Hello,’ it says, surprised and a little delighted, all warm and husky and honey rich. It pours right down her spine, all the way to her toes. 

Serena’s not sure if it’s the book playing havoc with her hormones or something deeper.

She seeks out the source and gets an eyeful of sun for her troubles; squints just enough to make out a silhouette.

‘Sorry to disturb,’ the disembodied voice adds, ‘I didn’t know anyone was staying.’

‘Only arrived today,’ Serena replies as she shuffles in her seat, setting her book to the side and reorganising herself so she can actually see who’s speaking. A tall blonde with high cheekbones and dark eyes leans against the fence, looking completely at home with her long arms intruding into Serena’s domain. An image of those arms around her waist springs to mind, so strong she can almost feel them holding her close. 

She coughs; tries to get herself together. ‘I assume you’re my temporary neighbour?’ 

The woman smiles. 

Serena blinks, like she’s gotten another eyeful of sunshine. She smiles back.

‘You settled all right?’ 

‘Yes, yes,’ Serena replies, a bit blasé. Doesn’t mention the scent of sage wafting ominously from the second bedroom or the spider she found in the bathtub. ‘It’s very homely. Thank you for asking, ah…?’

‘Bernie.’

‘ _ Bernie,’  _ she repeats, knows she’d offer out a hand if they were standing closer and offers up a smile instead. ‘I’m Serena.’

‘Well, Serena,’ she says, sibilant and soft. ‘If you need anything, directions or a tour guide, just let me know.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she says, stalling, not used to the kindness of strangers. She knows it’s usually just politeness, but Bernie looks like she might be offering in earnest. ‘Maybe once I’ve settled in?’ 

‘Okay,’ she says, almost a whisper, but doesn’t move. She just stands there, a little awkwardly, chewing on her bottom lip like she’s trying to figure out what else to say.

Try as she might, Serena can’t find anything to fill the space either. The silence drags on until Bernie wilts under its weight. 

‘I’d better get back,’ she says a little lamely. ‘Animals to see to, weeds to pull and all that.’

‘Of course,’ Serena says, waving the book in her hand **,** forgetting the graphic cover. ‘I’ve got a riveting day planned too.’

_ ‘Oh,’ _ Bernie breathes out, too knowing by far. She smirks. ‘I’d best let you get back then.’ Serena blushes as the smirk deepens. ‘Hopefully see you soon?’

Serena nods, and can’t help watching as Bernie turns away with a quick swish of her head, golden curls flicking around her ears. She keeps watching as she walks out of sight, leaving Serena alone with her fingers buried in a book and her spine still tingling. 

*

She’s glad she took advantage of the sun while it lasted because it’s bucketing when she wakes. 

Rain pounds against the roof as she leaves the warmth of her bed and lights a fire. She sits beside it, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, and feels a little adrift. 

She’s already run out of books, she promised not to check in with work for at least a week once she got here, and she’s got more than enough food for dinner so there’s no reason to leave the house.

Not that she’d know where she was going if she did leave, anyway. 

So she relaxes back into the cushions and breathes past the itch to  _ do _ . Sips the last of her coffee and lets her eyes drift shut. 

When she wakes to barely burning coals, she feels more rested than she has in months, maybe even  _ years _ , and knows Sian was right.

*

Relaxing can only last so long before it turns to sloth, and the next patch of sunshine has Serena changing into her favourite sundress and donning an oversized hat, determined to explore the surrounds of her temporary home. 

She’s gasping for a decent coffee, at the very least. 

She walks past the hip height hedge of her neighbour’s fence to find Bernie clearing the garden, bent over in the dirt on all fours. 

The sight sends a bolt right through her, white hot and wanting; she can’t blame her reaction on a steamy novel this time. 

She slows down, lets herself look, lets her eyes linger. 

Bernie’s hair is a mess, pulled back in a tiny ponytail, little strands sticking to the back of her neck. A clinging, tight vest sticks to her back as beads of sweat slide down the side of her neck over a scar that’s long since healed. 

She wonders what sort of injury might have put it there, knows farm work can be dangerous, even on a smallhold like this one; wonders what sort of facilities they have around here, what sort of service the NHS can manage in such a rural part of the country.

Then Bernie bends forward, stretching the denim of her overalls taut over her arse, and Serena almost falls over her own feet. 

She yelps in surprise, arms grasping at thin air and only narrowing escaping from face planting and making a fool of herself in front of her new neighbour—the one standing not three feet away on the other side of the fence, mouth drawn with concern:

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, fine!’ she says, a little strangled, a bit high pitched. She can feel her cheeks burning; wipes her palms on her skirt . ‘Not used to the cobbles.’

‘Ah,’ Bernie says, shoulders relaxing. ‘You really are a city girl, aren’t you.’

Serena bristles at the slight, even if Bernie’s merry eyes softens the barb. ‘I’m sure I’d be a dab hand with a trowel, if push came to shove.’

‘I’ve no doubt.’ Bernie smiles, eyes glinting as she brandishes the tool in her hand. ‘Care to put that hypothesis to the test?’ 

Serena laughs, low and rich, head falling backwards as her shoulders shake. She looks back at Bernie and can’t help noticing the way her shirt sticks to her body, cupping her breasts, the v neck dipping down to show another surgery scar. 

‘Not today,’ she says, smoothing down her skirt. ‘Wouldn’t want to mess up my dress.’ She Bernie’s eyes follow the movement of her hands before slowly raking her eyes back up. Looks Serena dead in the eye. ‘And it is such a lovely dress.’

Serena blushes beet-red, not sure she’s ready to finish the flirting she started. She stammers out a soft, ‘Thank you,’ and ‘I’ve got to be going,’ and rushes past as quickly as her shaking legs can take her. 

But even then, she can’t help looking back one last time. Sees Bernie stretching tall, shirt riding up and sharp hips all on show. Snaps her head forward and almost runs away.

* 

She’s glad the corner shop is on the side closest to her house because she definitely overestimated her stamina, at least when her arms are ladened with enough bags to fill a pantry from scratch. 

She finally turns the corner into her street and almost sags with relief, sweat forming on her brow as she strains to get home, and spies Bernie in the front garden. 

Bernie sees her too, reaching tall to wave as she walks towards the hedgerows. Serena smiles, forgets herself for a second and raises a hand to wave back. She loses control of her shopping and everything spills out over the cobblestones. 

Serena falls to her knees, shoving stray items back into bags, thankful the only casualty is a jar of sauce. 

‘Here, let me give you a hand,’ Bernie says, bending down and practically plucking the bags from Serena’s hands like she’s a damsel in distress, hefting them like they weigh nothing at all. Serena can’t find it in her to protest, just nods and stares at the definition of Bernie’s bicep, clutching a stray tin of tomatoes.

It’s all she can do not to swoon as Bernie leads the way to her front door. 

‘Just drop everything on the bench,’ Serena says, fumbling with the latch before watching Bernie walk up the hallway.

‘Left or right?’ Bernie calls over her shoulder before she makes it to the living room.

‘Oh!’ It hadn’t occurred to her that Bernie mightn’t have been inside the place before, despite how comfortable she’d made herself next-door. ‘Right, sorry. Just in there,’ she points as she makes a beeline for the kitchen, washing her hands of sauce before she starts putting the shopping away.

‘Feel free to poke around,’ she says as she unpacks. ‘Would you like something to drink? I just restocked so there’s plenty of options.’

‘No, thank you. I was just in the middle of pruning when you came by. Another time, though,’ she says, so heartfelt it almost sounds like a promise.

*

It’s almost a routine, if one can be established in such a short time, to shut the front door and find Bernie in the garden, almost waiting for her. It’s a little strange, just how easily Serena’s acclimated to a new schedule—doesn’t think about how she spent her nights researching new proposals, that she could barely manage five days away from her job, that even when she managed to relax there’d still be a part of her stuck at work—doesn’t know if it’s being away from the city, being in the countryside, or whether it’s Bernie herself. 

Either way, she’s just excited to see her neighbour. 

And true enough, there’s Bernie, walking across the garden with a smile on her lips, like she’s actually happy to see her too. 

It warms Serena right through. 

She doesn’t stay long, only a few minutes, just a quick chat. Listens to Bernie talk about her peach harvest before she leaves her to it. She assumes she’ll see her on the way back, and Bernie doesn’t disagree. 

She’s more than a little disappointed to find the garden empty when she comes home a few hours later. She’s knows it’s getting late but so far Bernie’s had some sense of whenever she’s in the area; knows when she’s nearby.

Till now.

It’s completely irrational, this feeling. So she swallows it down deep and retreats to the safety of her cottage as fast as she can.

*****

Bernie’s outside, as she should be, when Serena leaves the house the next day. Smiles like she’s happy to see her, but she’s a little panicked, in a rush. All Serena can get out of her is a burst pipe in the pigpen needs her immediate attention before she dashes off, leaving Serena blinking in her wake.

She heads into town, tries to burn as much time as possible: empties the library, goes up and around the clock tower, tosses a coin in the fountain. Even takes a stroll into the nursery, sniffing at potted herbs and brushing her fingers along newly sprouted seedlings. 

She thinks she recognises a few of the plants from her garden, one or two from Bernie’s garden too. Wonders what flowers are Bernie’s favourite, if she even likes flowers and doesn’t just grow them for the hives she can hear through the bathroom window; stops herself from wondering if Bernie would appreciate a new addition to her beds because she doesn’t know the first thing about gardening and the whole idea is a recipe for disaster.

The clock tower chimes three and she decides to call it a day now that she’s got something to read in front of the fire. She strolls home, books cradled against her hip; passes the only cafe she hasn’t tried yet, still open and calling to her.

The decore’s a bit more modern than the rest of the town and the barista’s as perky as any in the city. Serena’s not too impressed with their selection of pastries, mainly because there isn’t any, but the coffee’s nice. And it comes with some chocolate coated coffee beans, which she quickly decides she adores, so it’s not all bad. 

She people watches out the giant front window, for all there’s more pigeons than people in the tiny town, till her mug is drained. She briefly contemplates another, an excuse to ask for more beans, before deciding against it as a far better plan begins to form. 

Purse in hand, she returns to the counter and orders another two coffees to go, strong and hot enough to make the journey home.

She feels smug as she strolls back, hands laden with caffeine, secure in the knowledge that she has an excuse to knock on the door if Bernie isn’t in the garden. It would be nice to get to know at least one person in this town. And she wants to know Bernie. 

Bernie, it would seem, feels the same. Because there she is, digging up a patch of the front garden in dirt covered overalls, and her face lights up when Serena comes close.

‘Hello, you,’ she says, so full of affection Serena almost preens.

She just manages to save her blushes and start a normal conversation. ‘Everything alright with the pigs?’

‘Yes, yes, all sorted now. Thankfully Petunia didn’t mind the mess I made afterwards.’

‘Petunia?’ Serena asks, a little strangled. She hadn’t consider Bernie having a partner, hadn’t thought anyone else besides Bernie lived here, but that could just have been wishful thinking. 

‘The sow. It was her pen that blew, right over her grass patch. Thankfully she loves mud.’

‘Oh,’ Serena breathes, a little dizzy with relief. ‘Well that’s good, then. I, ah, missed you yesterday,’ she admits, pretending like it’s no big deal. ‘Everything all right, no other crises to avert?’

‘Actually, yes,’ Bernie replies with just a hint of a laugh. ‘Would have been out the back. One of the goats got stuck in the fence. Took me three hours to get the poor thing unstuck and the fence patched up.’

‘You have been busy! But no matter.’ She would have flapped her hand if they weren’t full of lattes. ‘I bought you coffee. To say thanks for the other day.’

‘Oh,’ she breathes out, a tiny smile curling at the corner of her mouth. ‘That was kind of you but really no need. Just happy to help.’ She takes the cup anyway, their fingertips brushing for a moment. A spark shivers all the way up Serena arm and she bites back a gasp. Can’t stop herself from gazing at Bernie through lowered lashes. Bernie stares right back.  **‘** Why don’t you come inside?’ she offers after a few moments, wiping her forehead on the back of her hand, leaving a smear of dirt behind. 

Serena stamps down the urge to reach out and wipe it off. Probably safer if she keeps her hands to herself. 

‘I’d be glad to.’

*****

The cottage isn’t what she expected. She assumed it’d be a bit messier: sink covered in dirt, dust on the window sill. The sort of things that just don’t get done when so much happens outside the house. 

It’s not spotless—things in strange places, cat hair and burn spots on the rug in front of the fire—but it’s homely, even more so than her little hideaway: bookshelves stacked with tomes, dried flowers hanging from the roof and live ones in a vase on the table. 

It’s the kitchen that surprises her the most. A hardwood bench is covered in canisters and containers and in amongst them is a freshly baked cake. It looks like something out of a magazine, and it smells  _ divine _ , all sugar sweet and enticing. 

And there’s Bernie, standing in the middle of it like she belongs there.

It makes her mouth water, and she has to reassess her assumptions about Bernie, all rake thin and willowy: she’d never have taken her for a sweet-toothed sort of gal. 

‘This is a surprise,’ she says as she slides onto a bar stool. Bernie tilts her head to the side and Serena points at the cake. ‘Didn’t think you’d be so domesticated. Took you for more of a rugged, outdoorsy type.’

Bernie shrugs. ‘It’s nicer to bake for others. And, ah, I hoped you’d be coming by soon. Thought it would be a nice gesture.’ 

‘It is,’ Serena agrees, delighted, hungry eyes staring at the candied lemon decorations. ‘Thank you, this is lovely. It’s been ages since I’ve had homemade cake.’

‘I didn’t think you looked like much of a baker.’

Serena slowly raises her head, eyebrow raised, and stares. ‘I’ll have you know im perfectly competent in the kitchen.’

Bernie wilts mumbling an apology. ‘No, I didn’t mean—’

Serena snorts, shoulders relaxing and eyes sparkling. ‘Yes I know, it’s all right.’ She grins. ‘You can apologise by showing me around town tomorrow.’

Bernie blinks, a little surprised. ‘I thought you weren’t interested.’

‘Of course I am,’ Serena says, frowning a little. Where would Bernie have gotten that idea? Unless she took Serena’s solo explorations as a rebuff.  _ Oh. _ ‘Just wanted to get my bearings first.’

Bernie smiles, tiny and bright, corners of her mouth curling tight. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

*****

Serena already knows the town is quaint, that the corner store serves as the post office and a sweets store, too; that there’s as many restaurants as cafes as pubs, and only one of them has a decent wine list; that the library’s only got one room and it’s mostly full of beanbags.

It’s endearing, this strange town in the middle of nowhere, but it becomes positively charming when paired with Bernie’s running commentary**. **

Clouds float across the sun as they leave the park, following the same route the gaol-breaking geese took during last year’s fete.

‘It sounds like a blast!’ Serena’s exclaims, voice still rich with laugher from Bernie’s fowl impersonation. She does a marvellous impression of a goose.

‘It is,’ Bernie assures her, ‘I’ll be going, if you’d like to join?’ she asks with a lopsided grin. It makes Serena’s heart flutter just a little, rendering her mute for a moment. ‘I can’t promise it’ll be as eventful as last year, but I’ve been every since I moved here and it’s always been a lovely day.’

Serena finds her voice again, pricking up with curiosity. ‘How long have you been here?’ 

‘Uh, five years?’ Bernie frowns, thinking. Adds, ‘Maybe six.’

Serena thinks about herself six years ago: settled at Harvard, getting to grips with the American system and working as hard as ever. She knew what pulled her there. What pulled her back, too. Wonders if all women their age feel that itch, the refusal to slow down and the knowledge they can’t stay, the need to challenge and push past to the next hurdle. Wonders if Bernie felt it too.

‘So what about the countryside called to you?’

Bernie stops short and seems to deflate, scuffs the toe of her shoe against the cobble, biting her bottom lip. ‘My whole life blew up, actually. Literally. Roadside IED while I was stationed in Kabul landed me a medical discharge. Which would have been all well and good, but I didn’t have much of a life to be discharged back to, in the end.’

Serena’s eyes widen, a little horrified. She hadn’t expected anything so dramatic. 

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘No, no. It’s alright,’ Bernie says with a smile like she actually means it. ‘I just don’t usually talk about it. Not much need, when everyone here already knows about the accident and we don’t get many visitors. Well,’ she adds, cheeks pinking a little as her eyes sparkle. ‘None like you.’

Serena smiles, something humming behind her breastbone, but doesn’t know what to say; does the decent thing instead. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ 

‘Only if it’s over ice cream.’

‘Ice cream?’ Serena frowns, thinks it’s a rather specific caveat. Till she realises Bernie’s brought them to a stop right outside the corner shop . Like this was the plan all along. She huffs, knows she’s been had. ‘Well then, let me buy you a cone.’

‘Steady on,’ Bernie says with a laugh. ‘My thumb isn’t _ that _ kind of green.’ 

Serena’s eyes bulge and she slaps at Bernie’s shoulder, scandalised.

Still, she can’t help grinning at Bernie’s impish smile as she follows her inside. 

*****

Serena eyes the cows suspiciously, watching them chew cud from under the wide brim of her hat. It’s been lovely all morning and she hopes the weather holds, but she supposes the hat’s big enough to serve as an umbrella if need be. The cow closest moos like she agrees. 

She walks over to Bernie, past a gaggle of geese. She feels their beady little eyes watching her; has no doubt that this flock will make a break for it, too, given half the chance. Hopes they behave themselves; she doesn’t fancy spending the afternoon running from feathered hissing.

She comes to a stop beside Bernie, in front of the ducks. One seems rather enamoured with her, nibbling sunflower seed from her open hand. 

‘Got another admirer?’ She doesn’t think about the slip of her tongue till it’s already out.

Thankfully, Bernie doesn't seem to notice. ‘Yes,’ she says cheerfully, ‘I’ve been thinking about expanding the duck pen recently, adding some other breeds. This one’s sold me on the idea.’

‘Bernie, that’s wonderful!’ She mightn’t know much about farms—though she is learning, bit by bit, as her new friend mentions more and more about the specifics of running a functioning one—but anything that makes Bernie’s eyes sparkle the way they are right now has to be a great idea. ‘Do we have to talk to someone about buying her, or…?’

‘Already done,’ Bernie says, dusting her hand on her knees before pushing herself to her feet, still looking at the fowl. ‘He’ll drop her and a mate off tomorrow morning. I’ve traded with him before so he knows where I am.’ She turns to Serena, clearly shifting her full attention now the business part of the day is done. ‘Would you like to see the rest of the fete?’

Serena nods. ‘Lead the way.’

They stroll along the sunniest side of the high street, stopping at stalls that catch Serena’s eye or by people eager for a quick chat with Bernie. They’re stopped the longest by an apparently mutual neighbour, Rosemary. Which doesn’t bother Serena in the slightest because the table is covered in the wears of a brewery tucked away tucked on the other side of the river. And the cider is delicious.

‘I’ll have to visit some time,’ Serena muses, pocketing a business card. ‘Do you have tasting times?’

Rosemary nods. ‘Most weekends, but come over anytime you like,’ she says merrily, looking fondly at the two of them. ‘Any friend of Bernie’s is always welcome.’  
  
Serena beams and Bernie blushes, fumbling her change as she insists on paying, despite Rosemary saying the first cup’s on the house. She only relents when Serena promises to come back for a second mug on their way back, draining the rest of her cup to prove the point. 

She’s glad she drank it so quickly when a bundle of children rush past them and almost knock it out of her hand. 

‘Oi!’ Bernie shouts over the din of the crowd. Falls silent with Serena’s hand on her forearm.

‘Leave them, they’re just playing.’ She smiles, slips her arm through Bernie’s elbow; nods goodbye to Rosemary and tugs Bernie along. ‘Come on, I want a go at the ring toss.’

Turns out she’s wonderful at it; a hidden talent found late in life. She wins herself a crate of wine and a stuffed fox and stands back to let Bernie have a go. 

Her body moves with practiced ease but her aim absolutely rubbish and the stuffed wolf she was aiming for stays put on the prize table. 

‘Oh well,’ Bernie sighs, trying not to pout.

Serena’s having none of it. ‘Another set of rings, please,’ she says, beckoning the stall holder over. 

He hands her six; she manages it in two, and Bernie spends the rest of the day clutching a soft, silvery wolf in her left hand, occasionally bumping Serena’s shoulder with her right as they walk closer and closer to one another through the crowd. 

The gaggle of children bolt past them again, howling and laughing, and Serena smiles despite herself. She feels light, almost weightless without the stress of the boardroom on her shoulders. Catches Bernie smiling out of the corner of her eye and can’t remember the last time she was this content, this  _ happy _ , and knows this is exactly where she needs to be.

So she’s loathed to end the day, even with the stalls packing up and her legs already carrying her home.

But then Bernie stops in front of the only Italian in town, the one place with a decent wine list, and looks at Serena with wide, wanting eyes. 

‘You hungry?’ 

‘I could eat,’ she agrees and follows Bernie inside, trying her best not to think about all the things  _ off  _ the menu she’d very much like to try too. 

This probably isn’t what Sian meant when she’d said she needed to relax, but she can’t see her amorous friend disapproving in the slightest.  _ And what’s wrong with looking anyway _ , she reasons as she helps herself to a spoonful of Bernie’s chocolate mousse, delights in watching her cheeks flush.  _ It’s not like it’s anything serious.  _

But she has to reconsider, during the walk home—somehow calming and exciting all at once; a jolt running up the back of her hand every time she accidentally brushes against Bernie’s— and she keeps having to resist the urge to reach out and tangle their fingers together. 

She knows she has to admit this might run a little deeper, when they’re standing by her front door. Bernie looks so  _ beautiful _ in the moonlight, and all she wants to do is lean forward and kiss her goodnight and lever let go.

She does her best not to panic, keeps her voice smooth and calm as she thanks Bernie for a lovely day. She thinks something might flash through Bernie’s eyes when she doesn’t lean forward and just lets herself into the house. She closes the front door behind her, wondering if it was disappointment or just wistful thinking on her part. 

She knows she’s made a friend; knows she doesn’t want to ruin that. She’s barely known Bernie a fortnight, can’t stand the idea of making an advance but having the wrong end of the stick, of having to stay here for another month with the only person she really knows avoiding her. 

But she can’t help hoping it’s mutual, that Bernie’s been looking at her as much as she’s been looking at Bernie, in the same way. 

That it might be something they both want, that they might be in this together. 

If only she were brave enough to ask. 


End file.
